Up in Honey's Room by Elmore Leonard

handles the lines and serves drinks in a white jacket. We head down the Detroit River past Ford Rouge and the steel mills to Lake Erie and we’re almost home.” Aviva said to Otto grinning at her, “Have you ever been to Cleveland?”
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    The first thing Walter said to Jurgen getting in the front seat, “Where is Otto?” Walter anxious, looking for Otto in his homburg in the crowd waiting for the light to change. Now cars behind them were blowing horns. Walter didn’t move. He looked at the rearview mirror and said, “Be quiet!” But now he did put the Ford in gear and began to crawl past the block-long front of Hudson’s.
    â€œWe were separated,” Jurgen said.
    â€œHow could that happen? You were careful?”
    â€œHe got on an elevator without me,” Jurgen said.
    â€œYou were arguing?”
    â€œThe door closed before I could get on. There’s nothing to worry about, Walter. He’ll be along. Circle the block, I’m sure we’ll see him.”
    â€œI knew something like this would happen,” Walter said. “Why I was against you going out in public, your pictures in every post office in the country.”
    Jurgen said, “Yes, but do we look like those lost souls? I hope not.”
    It took Walter ten minutes to drive several blocks past signs that refused to allow him to turn, finally coming roundabout past the corner again, Walter straining to find Otto in the crowd.
    â€œDo you see him? No, because he isn’t there. You let him out of your sight and now he’s gone. We’ll read about him in the newspaper, escaped prisoner of war arrested by the police.”
    â€œIf he’s caught he won’t tell on you. We know you’re up to something with the lovely Vera and Dr. Taylor who doesn’t speak. Why won’t you tell us about it?”
    â€œI can tell you, ” Walter said, “but not with Otto present. I worry he’s going crazy.”
    â€œHe’s always been crazy,” Jurgen said. “It got him an Iron Cross in North Africa. I think he could get by here, with a little luck.” Jurgen believed he could tell Walter almost anything. “Otto can be charming, if he has a good enough reason. I’m not going to worry about him.”
    Not with Carl Webster here.
    Relentless Carl, not only knowing Jurgen would be in Detroit, but also having lunch where he and Otto were going to dine. Not the Georgian or the Early American restaurant, or the cafeteria in the basement the girl operating the elevator told him about, no, in the Pine Room.
    Carl coming closer and closer.
    How did he do that?
    It was funny, because Jurgen wasn’t surprised to see him sitting there. Startled, yes, for a moment but not actually that surprised. He knew that Carl, sooner or later, would be on his trail.
    He could see himself sitting down with Carl, talking, getting along. A bar would be a good place, the Brass Rail they passed on the way to Hudson’s. Or a nightclub he saw advertised in the paper, Frank Barbaro’s Bowery. It offered entertainment, a romantic baritone, dinners from a dollar and a half up. What else? The room was air-cooled for your comfort.
    Sometime after the war.
    He would have to be on his toes now, wondering where he would see Carl next.

Ten
    C arl liked the way she offered him a drink when he came to pick her up, Honey saying he could have anything he wanted as long as it was rye. He liked her in the black sweater and skirt and the way the slit in the skirt opened as she walked to the kitchen. She returned with drinks and offered him a Lucky, telling him in a semiserious tone, “I’m sorry, but I seem to be out of Beech-Nut scrap.” Carl smiled, appreciating her effort, her memory even more. She paid attention to what he said.
    Now they were at opposite ends of the cushy sofa with their highballs and cigarettes, both sitting back with their legs crossed: Carl showing a